It’s been two months. Two wonderful months; two wonderful months since I broke up with that bastard. But I think he did something to me. No, I know that he did something to because, right now, as I stare at the test in my hand… I’m pregnant.

My gaze changes from the test to the mirror and I notice the depth of insanity that fills my eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to me at least. It was only supposed to happen to girls who weren’t careful, who were sluts and whores, but this just wasn’t something that was supposed to happen to me.

It’s that bastard’s fault. It’s that fucking bastard’s fault and I’ll never forgive him.

Moments pass, it may have been just a few seconds, but even so.. That baby.. That thing thing starts to develop inside me.

What if’s start to form in my head. What if I found a solution in abortion? What if it didn’t develop?

Ideas of that form still ran through my mind, trying to find some sort of loophole. Then I absolutely realized:

I can’t do this.